Nature’s Finest Artwork
by Dark Hope Assassin
Summary: It came as a complete surprise to her when he told her one night in that blood-curdling serious tone and stony expression he rarely donned on, “Undress me.” /Honest to God GrimmHime/
1. A Map of Him

_**Nature's Finest Artwork**_

* * *

_Chapter One: A Map of Him_

* * *

It's not like they were doing this rarely and the mere act itself demanded it…

…But Orihime could safely say that she'd ever really been let to _touch_ him, to_ feel _him there in front of her, next to her, above her and all over her.

And she found that more than a little unfair because he always got to do whatever he pleased with her, he was the one who always got his way with her whether or not she initially felt like participating or not. (Because, while sometimes she'd been more than a little reluctant at first—their first time together striking out the most in her memory in that line of thought—she couldn't say that she'd ever been taken _against her will_; it was something he thought beneath him and what little moral code he had.)

It wasn't like he had actually _forbidden_ her to touch him during their heated nightly sessions or anything—he was above such frivolousness as resorting to much eloquence in moments like that. He didn't really _need_ to say it when every time her hand lingered anywhere on his body in a clearly explorative way he did something—changed positions, pinned her wrists over her head, anything that sprung to his mind which proved to be rather creative when it came to activities that were his forte like that one—to prevent her from continuing her curious mapping of his form.

She couldn't quite grasp why Grimmjow was so averse to letting her get to know him as well as he knew her. He seemed to like getting her attention during their nights together and the delightfully unbridled sounds of his appreciation were often enough an occurrence to let her know she wasn't totally abominable a bed mate.

Orihime's mind functioned in odd ways as her peers back in her home town knew well so it came as no surprise that her head often provided her with questions she couldn't supply answers to. And in turn those questions returned with an unmatched ferocity during the moments when she was all alone in her cell-like bleak room, counting away the seconds, minutes, hours and days of her life that she spent as a souvenir to a selfish man's equally selfish vagary.

Because it wasn't really like Aizen truly _needed_ her there.

It was more that he _could_ have her there and that he wanted to show _everyone_ he could than anything else.

When she'd realized that she wasn't even necessary—just a passing interest, or maybe not even that much—she'd felt crushed under the weight of it all. She'd spent such a large portion of her life trying not to be a deadweight but none of it seemed to amount to anything ever. What was the point in trying then if she was doomed to fail from the very start?

It had done quite a number on her, that.

It was only self-explanatory that she wouldn't have been able to resist Grimmjow's advances which were more than welcome and even more impeccable timing-wise than she'd ever let him know.

And yet he never let her touch him—not in the way she sometimes wanted, not in the way he sometimes allowed himself to roam her.

And she found that more and more unfair with each subsequent time he entered her private quarters with only one thing in mind.

She'd tried denying him but that attempt had ended up in disaster—there was no way she could drive _Grimmjow_ away when he was hell-bent on having his way with her.

She'd also tried being more persistent but that hadn't ended well either. He'd been exceptionally rough with her those times and after he'd left she'd had to use her healing powers on herself so Ulquiorra wouldn't see the bruises on her wrists and become even wearier of his fellow Espada's nightly excursions to her room than he already was.

Grimmjow had been so strict about keeping her as far from himself as he possibly could considering the type of relationship they had—if it could even be labeled that, she thought bitterly—that it came as complete surprise to her when he told her one night in that blood-curdling serious tone and stony expression he rarely donned on,

"Undress me."

Despite her having seen his naked form more times than can be accounted for, she felt her chest constrict and her throat seize.

The task of getting rid of the clothing—which was only good for being in the way, as far as his philosophy on the matter went—was always his and exclusively his duty. The one time she'd tried doing it in his stead, he'd shoved her against a wall and screwed her senseless, until she couldn't hold anything securely with her shaking fingers, not to mention the idea of undoing anyone's garments.

And yet there he was, standing stern on his words. '_Undress me._' It had not been a request; it was an order, one that she wasn't given the option of not complying to. But rather than the action itself, the implication of lifting his unvoiced prohibition of her touching his body more than was absolutely called for was what made her pulse quicken.

It was the first time she felt like they were being really intimate, even though he probably knew every nook and cranny of her body.

Orihime had been so taken aback by the suddenness of the removal of the subtle interdict that she hadn't moved an inch for a considerably long while. When she mentally shook herself back to reality she reminded herself with an inaudible wince that Grimmjow wasn't generally very fond of having to wait and that patience wasn't among his very few virtues.

However, when she uncertainly raised her gaze to meet with his—already able to see the displeasure and irritability with her inactivity—she was once again surprised to see only that same steadfast unreadable expression on his face from a minute or so ago, an unnatural forced calmness in his usually tempestuously blazing azure orbs that only made her blush harder under his intense scrutiny.

He was being deliberately patient with her. It was very awkward on her. She felt like she could die from the embarrassment right then and there from the abruptness of his demand, even though it was something she'd wanted to do for a long, long time…

After what felt like an eternity during which neither of them spoke, Orihime's loud intermittent breathing the only thing to fill up the silence of the suddenly suffocating in its tininess room, the young woman took a faltering step towards her lover, equally uncertain hands placed on his broad chest.

He observed her closely and mutely and the severity of his teal gaze so tightly following her every move unnerved her greatly. Still, she pushed on beyond her completely uncalled for self-consciousness, her hands sliding up his toned chest to his neck, fingers idly toying with the small hairs on the back of his head. She took a moment to look into those piercing eyes of his before breaking contact in the next second, unable to bear the weight of his glare for long because the depth of it that she was sure no one took the time to notice—that he didn't give anyone the _chance_ to notice—sucked her away into a world where he was all that existed and all that mattered and she was scared to consider what it meant.

Her palms slid back down the sides of the strong column of his neck, burying themselves beneath the rim of his jacket as she felt the soft skin of the joint of his shoulder and neck. The skin on his body was so soft, as she'd repeatedly discovered, every time caught a bit unawares. He was so crude and callous in everything he did and was that it only seemed natural his flesh would feel that way too. But that wasn't the case. He was smooth and toned and sinewy muscle all over, so pleasant to the touch that he made for a lovely addiction, a fixation if you will.

And she was free to sate her fixation with his frame that night.

Feeling bolder at once, Orihime allowed her arms to glide further over his broad shoulders, helping ease the short jacket's weight from them effectively. With it out of the way, there was nothing to obstruct the view of his built chest from her curious gaze. Her breath hitched slightly but she did not halt her explorative mission, her palms eagerly shifting from travelling the length of his toned forearms and arms to their joins with his impressively sculpted torso.

Her touch was feathery light and just as evanescent as though he would vanish beneath her fingers if she were to be forceful in any way. But he did not scoff at her for her irrational behavior for whatever reason and this made Orihime even more confident in her quest to acquaint herself with him as much as he would allow her.

Her hands skimmed the vast expanses of smooth flesh of his chest, ghosting over the place where his heart should have been had he been as human as his appearance was, only to take a sharp turn south, soft palms arriving at his equally well-toned abdomen. She felt the impeccable form of each of his abdominal muscles, staring in awe how well-shaped each of them was.

And as she looked at him again, her hands following the trek of her gaze upwards again, she was stricken by the realization just how _breathtakingly gorgeous_ he actually was, had been all along, when she hadn't taken the moment to notice.

She felt humbled by the perfection which lay in every single sinew of his form, which radiated off of him in thick waves in his nakedness. She felt humbled but just as hungry to see more, to have all of him for her curious gaze to marvel at.

So she fumbled with the top of his hakama, eager and yet languid in undoing it, in guiding it down the sides of his solid hips, down the length of his sturdy thighs and calves, to pool around his strong ankles which kept him grounded to the spot, following her every movement with only his eyes.

Orihime looked back up the long sculpted legs to meet his gaze from her position on her knees before him and she instantly flushed bright red. She recalled having a brief conversation on what kind of effect and thoughts seeing her in that particular place brought to his twisted head and tried to keep the trembling of her hands to a minimum as they travelled back up to remove the only remaining garment of his clothing.

Doing so only proved that he was, in fact, very much _affected_ by her crouching stance in front of him in a setting like the one they were in. And the peculiar state he was in was very difficult to ignore as she stood before him once more, her frame so much smaller than his, towering at least two heads above her.

For a moment, Orihime took the chance to admire his overbearing frame in its entirety, in its complete bareness. And she was overcome by the godliness of his appearance.

In that moment, he was truly more of a daydream, a fleeting incorporeal vision which would vanish should she blink, than he was a man of flesh and blood and spirit standing in the room with her. He was so perfectly mould, with his chiseled chest and strong arms, abdomen with muscles in all the right places and powerful legs that she was sure that if she had to define him in some way, with as few words as she could, she could earnestly say he had to be nature's finest artwork. He had to be. Nothing else could be so… flawless and mind-boggling.

He took her breath away, just standing there, looking at her devouring every inch of him with her eyes, earning to touch him all over again, rain him with kisses and then stand over him again and marvel some more just to make sure she wasn't dreaming or making it all up because such inconceivable beauty of form couldn't exist in a world so ugly and ungodly as Hueco Mundo.

She looked at his sharp featured face, feeling the urge to kiss him but doing her best to resist it. She knew for a fact that Grimmjow wasn't very fond of kisses either, preferring more forward actions and displays of "affection".

She must have looked very pitiful right then and there, so overtaken by his presence and appearance that he bent to plant a kiss on her slightly parted lips of his own.

And when he did she felt it.

He was holding himself back.

While he was usually rampant and ravishing, Grimmjow now allowed her to do whatever she wanted with him for a change, trying to make a lasting memory for her for once. He let her be in charge this time, because he couldn't do gentle and sensual; he was too wild, too passionate and too domineering to be gentle and sensual with her.

So he would let her steer them in whatever direction she pleased for just one night.

Because he could.

Because it wouldn't cost him anything.

And because while it was nothing to him, it would make her happy.

He'd kissed her, just a brief brush of lips against lips and the way he'd looked into her steely grey orbs without having pulled back completely made her swell with emotion.

After discarding her own garments, she set to the task of memorizing every centimeter of his body with both senses of sight and touch because she couldn't be sure if a night like this would ever repeat itself.

At the end of it, when he'd fallen asleep and she was drifting off herself, there was no doubt in her mind—Grimmjow was definitely nature's finest artwork, in more ways than one.

It was a shame Orihime really knew better than to tell that to his face.

* * *

_Notes: _I really think that this would be the only level of "spiritual bonding" that Grimmjow can do. And I hope you enjoyed it, because I definitely did try my best with it. xD


	2. A Map of Her

_Warning_: Beware of quite crude language at times. Nothing too graphical here but it _is_ an adult situation throughout the chapter, so be wary of that too. That said, I hope you enjoy.

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_**Nature's Finest Artwork**_

* * *

_Chapter Two: A Map of Her_

* * *

From the moment she'd set foot into Las Noches, she'd been an eyesore to him.

Orihime was an intruder, most unwelcome in the Arrancar keep as far as Grimmjow was concerned. She was too different, too unlike them for his tastes.

She made stark contrast with every single one of them. She was like a blotch of bright, colourful paint in a world made of gray. An _eyesore_.

And he _saw_ the way she carried herself around the place—as though she was _better_ than them, with her primness and whole damsel-in-distress melancholy look, wringing her hands in her lap when she thought no one was looking.

She just fucking _pissed him off_ so much! He wanted to strangle her by that pretty little neck, snap it in half for all that innate _goodness_ of hers was worth and show her that it didn't matter whether she believed herself more just, or better, or any other foolishly heroic characteristic her deluded head may conjure up because virtue couldn't hold a candle to power and no matter how virtuous she was and flaunted the fact about with that innocent fucking face of hers, it wouldn't matter when he was snuffing the life right out of that wimpy form of hers just because he _could_ and there would be _nothing_ she could do to stop him from doing so.

Looking at her while brushing past her down the corridors of Las Noches, seeing her from afar across the meeting room of the Espada and always infallibly noticing that scared shitless and yet somehow _self-righteously determined _expression of hers, as though enduring whatever they dished out for her was for some screwed up "greater cause", made everything that was twisted in him burn with a ferocity.

His blood boiled in his veins in those moments, every fiber of his being _craving_ to spill her precious blood and show her just _what_ he could actually put her through, see if she could survive even _that_ with just her steadfast self-conviction alone. He practically ached all over to knock her off her tall horse, smack some sense into that airy empty head of hers because, _hello_, no one was coming to rescue her and even if they were, they'd all die pathetic deaths before even setting foot in the fortress so she could fucking forget that feigned show of strength of hers because it wasn't impressing anyone and it was just _fucking pissing him the hell off!_

When Orihime wasn't rubbing him the wrong way with her pretended façade of impassiveness, she had this absolutely obnoxious habit of mouthing that lame-ass shinigami's name that he'd roughed up twice already. So when Grimmjow's fingers weren't itching to curl around that skinny neck of hers, to rip her throat right out or tear her apart till she was no more than a gurgling bloody mess, he wanted to taint her, take the last of what little dignity she may have had left and _screw her_, fuck her hard and long enough to make her forget that asshole's name and face, fill her up with so much of himself so many times she wouldn't have a coherent thought anymore in that freaking head of hers.

He didn't know why it irked him so, seeing her hoping for that prick's rescue, but it did and he didn't care to know more than just the fact it did. And controlling himself from giving into his sadistic desires towards the fragile human girl was becoming increasingly difficult and it would be just a matter of time before he truly snapped.

Why hadn't he yet? Because of Aizen's orders to stay the hell away from her? As though that could really stop him if he really wanted to do something as badly as he did.

Why then?

Why, quite simple actually—while the chick was hell of an annoying one, in everything she did and was, the fact still remained that he owed her a debt he would probably never be able to repay.

And, quite frankly, that had to be the most infuriating thing of all. And _that_ was saying something.

* * *

Grimmjow remembered vividly the first time he'd taken her. It was a victory of a type he'd never before had a taste of but could grow very much accustomed to, maybe even as much as he enjoyed grinding people's faces in the dirt.

What was odd though was he could clearly recall even what had led to the happenings that transpired, which he couldn't say for any of the subsequent times after it.

Maybe it was because her eyes completely lacked what little luster they usually had that day or because of the tense air of doom and gloom about her when he passed her by on his way to a meeting with Aizen and all the other Espada members. Maybe it was because she'd looked like an empty shell, a soulless afterimage that was still somehow walking around mindlessly, that he could remember.

Or it could be the fact that she hadn't even tried to fight him when he'd caught that easily breakable throat of hers in his vice-like grasp, or because she actually had the _gall_ to look _relieved_ and _hopeful_ that he break her neck and end her misery. Never before had he seen her hit rock bottom so much to actually _desire_ death. It wasn't normal. It was fucked up, wanting to die for even a second. He could not comprehend it, could not accept it, would not stand for her looking at him like that, as though he was _doing her a favour_ by _threatening her damned life_.

Grimmjow remembered shaking her roughly by the collar, barking at her to snap the hell back to reality because she was fucking pissing him off. Her eyes had questioned him mutely—_why_? What did it matter? She didn't care whether she lived or died and neither did he—why should she make any more futile efforts? There was nothing worth trying so hard for in the first place.

And Orihime adamantly refused to get back to her usual pointlessly optimistic self. Why? He did not care for whys and hows. All that mattered was that she would do as he wanted her to, one way or another, because when he wanted something to go a certain way he always bent it to his will, regardless whether it wanted to bend that way or not.

So he did the most natural thing in the world when violence wouldn't get him the result he desired.

He turned the other cheek.

And kissed her rather savagely as proof of it.

He could still remember her indignant squawk of protest and the way her tiny little fists futilely pounded and pushed against his chest in a pitiful attempt to shove him away. He recalled smirking against her mouth at that—it was much more like it, this change of demeanor of hers. It was this kind of spunk that he'd been looking for from her, that defiance which he had sought when he'd slammed her by her throat against the wall hard enough to bruise.

His hands were still rough and demanding while ravishing her curves but with intentions radically different from a second prior. But, ah, how she struggled and struggled, yelling at him to let go with that horror stricken face of hers, tears of helplessness welling in those steely gray eyes of hers.

It had been fun the first few minutes but then it was just annoying, having a woman so downright _displeased_ with his touch. He'd immediately decided that it wouldn't do and changed tack. He wasn't the smoothest of courtiers but he knew a few things capable of turning those terrified screams of hers mould into appreciative ones and, taking into account how difficult it was to change her mind usually, he'd make a challenge of achieving just that. Still very much a predator at heart, Grimmjow always loved a good chase.

And, surely enough, after working some of his undeniable irresistible charm on her, his magic over her body started taking over from her mind. Despite her better judgement, Orihime couldn't stop the frightened whimpers from morphing into delighted gasps, the screams into moans and the thrashing away into grinding against. She wanted to get away from him, wanted his hands _away from her_ because they were taking liberties that shouldn't have been allowed and yet when he touched her, his long fingers left a trace of burning flesh in their wake that did not belong to an unwilling victim.

Before neither realized it, instead of inching away she was clawing into, no longer trying to push away but clinging tightly to, and meeting him rough touch for rough touch, passionate bruising kiss for passionate bruising kiss and thrust for thrust desperately, vehemently, needily. She held onto his broad shoulders as he moved against her, eyes clenched shut, mewling and squeaking in that absolutely arousing way in his ear until he actually drove her over the edge.

He remembered letting her crawl in bed to sleep afterwards and actually lingering behind to admire how he'd broken her when she'd drifted off, unaware of his carnivorous gaze still on her. He'd been so beyond pleased with himself, for taking away the last thing that was hers and hers only, for taking her body and not even giving her the chance of saying it had been against her will, robbing her of the chance to have a clear conscience about the whole escapade.

In just one act, something as ordinary and superficial as bodily contact, friction of skin against skin and something more, he'd changed her forever.

He'd tainted her.

He'd ruined her.

And he was having a field day with it.

Where was her shinigami now, while he'd fucked her virginity away, huh? Did he hear her screams and pleas for help while Grimmjow was coming onto her? Where was Kurosaki Ichigo while an Arrancar was defiling her? Could she really let herself be rescued by him when she'd remember what one of her captors had done to her? Could she really go back to being normal when she'd actually _desired_ an Espada's touch?

He'd seeded all those worries in her messed up little head and it hadn't even taken all that much effort.

Satisfied with a job well done, Grimmjow had turned and fully intended to walk away, to leave her rest in peace when she'd made the mistake of saying the one taboo word.

He'd thought he'd got rid of all her thoughts of that prick…

And then he'd let himself spin totally out of control.

He'd roughly shaken her awake and screwed her over, hard, again and again, until she was practically hurting from all the pleasure and overwhelmed from the orgasmic bliss, begging him to stop. He'd made her look at him through it all, forbidding her to close her eyes or avert her gaze; forbidden her from running away from the fact whom she was doing this with, whom she was letting do as he damn well pleases with her body. He'd ground it in her, over and over, whom she belonged to and she would be wise to remember it.

After he was done, the sour expression securely etched onto his face as he left her to herself in her room, all the nerves in her body hypersensitive from the overdrive he'd put them through, he retreated with the air of someone who had make his message clear.

* * *

At first he had thought that it would've been just a one time occurrence, that evening with her in her quarters. Even though she'd proved to be a relatively good lay, she was nothing really all that special and Grimmjow had better things to do with his time than waste it on her.

And yet he found himself coming back to her for more, yearning to have that luscious frame of hers wrapped around his engorged length again and again, whether to blow some steam off or just for kicks; because he missed those pitiful sounds she made when she was close to her peak or because he wanted to have her from any possible angle he could think of. For whatever reason, he came back to her, again and again, and she never pushed him away, no matter how violent or sadistic he was with her, how absolutely selfish and demanding at times.

He'd thought that it was just because he enjoyed his superiority over her and shoving in her face the fact he could have her wherever he wanted her, whenever he wanted her and however many times he wanted her. He always did it to her in such a cold-light-of-day manner, never giving her any reason to delude herself into thinking he actually cared about whether she really enjoyed their intercourse or not.

Nevertheless, at one point Grimmjow began to allow his fingers to linger at this sensitive spot or that a little longer, in way that was gratifying only on her part and not at all on his; he let his kisses last because he knew from the way she returned them she liked them; his caresses—though still untamed and rampant—morphing into a more subdued and controlled version of their previous selves.

It had been a gradual, very slow change but it had not eluded either of them.

Until one time he decided to embrace this new found fascination with her that he had—for the first time actually interested _in_ her, not just what it would be like to have her at his beck and call. There had been nowhere to hide from this fact any longer and his curiosity was getting slowly the better of him anyway.

He could elicit such delicious response from her when he wasn't even trying hard; what would happen should he actually get in the role? What would her screams and moans turn into? Would her back arch even further into his if he did? Would she claw harder into his shoulders and leave deeper tracks if he tried harder?

Only one way to find out really and he couldn't think of a reason not to embark on the journey.

The first night Grimmjow had decided to sate his curiosity, Orihime had been taken aback by how extended the foreplay had been that night. And then she hadn't been left with much coherent thought potency to wonder anything and she'd just decided to enjoy the ride while it lasted because she didn't count much on it repeating.

He'd sated his lust first, of course, so he wouldn't let his impatience get the better of him in the most opportune moment. From then on, while she was still struggling to catch her breath, he let himself loom over her for a bit, taking in the sight of her rose tinted sides and the way her well-endowed chest expanded and deflated with each steadying gasp she took. Usually, he would stay like that for a while, marveling at his handiwork of tiring her out a way no one else could—that he made _sure_ no one else got ideas he could—but this time he strayed from the rut.

His warm breath ghosted over the sensitive skin of her neck, making an appreciative shiver rake her form even as she demanded to know what he was doing. He ignored her of course, focusing instead on how unbearably _soft_ she was all over, his hands roaming her body with little to no trace of innuendo in his ministrations for once.

He looked mesmerized in an almost child-like way by the smoothness of her skin and how pliant her flesh was against his calloused hands. He let an open palm slide from lightly squeezing her tiny neck to her perfectly flat collarbone, then further downwards to the generous mounds of her breasts.

He'd always had a thing for her chest, the size and shape of it. She was almost too perfect in that aspect, a sight for sore eyes in the nude. He'd always noticed how his hands were so much larger than hers, than her shoulders, and yet he couldn't manage to cup a breast with a palm. The soft flesh pooled in his grasp, so tantalizingly round and looking so inviting to his predatory gaze. He squeezed the mounds of glee a few times, only noticing her breathy moans under his touch when they became loud enough to break him out of his trance-like state.

He looked up to her face then, noting with slight amusement that she had flushed again in the way she did when she was starting to get excited and he should've thought at that very moment that he could read her a bit too well, even though she wasn't very good at veiling her emotions in the first place, not to mention under the given circumstances. But he was too busy exploring the curves of her lusciously sculpted frame to pay much heed to the alarm bells in the darkest recess of his mind.

Satisfied with the reaction he was receiving from her thus far, Grimmjow let his hands roam down further, to the flat of her stomach, covered with that ethereally soft skin of hers. He let his palm linger over her belly for a bit, staring in wonder again how much smaller she was compared to him—he hid almost all of her midriff from view when he spread his fingers over her abdomen. She was so tiny and breakable and deliciously _vulnerable_—he couldn't get enough of her and her impatient moans for him to _continue_ what he'd started, to resume his trek downwards.

He smirked wolfishly at her, fingering the sides of her exposed thighs instead, teasing her just to get a rise out of her while he burrowed his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in her sickeningly sweet scent, enjoying the rumble of her indignant sounds of protest against his mouth as he denied her what she wanted again, exploring hands sliding back upwards once more.

Her protest died in her throat to be replaced with an involuntary moan she didn't manage to hold in when he licked the side of the column of her neck. He let his parted lips linger over her pulse point, sucking at the sensitive flesh there before continuing his journey south.

He was intrigued by the change in pitch of her voice when he lavished her chest with the attention he'd been meaning to give it for some time. Inspired by her generous response, he continued to map all of her until he could remember the way she looked without needing the use of his eyesight. Her small neck, her large well-rounded chest, her tiny waist, her toned thighs and calves, her impeccably even abdomen, her little hands raking his hair… He continued until he could recreate all of her in his mind without fail.

Grimmjow made sure there wasn't a centimeter of her he had not charted. And after he did, he reclaimed her again but somehow this time it felt different, it felt more special somehow.

And then the alarm bells became loud enough to shake him out of his reverie.

* * *

One night many days later, after Orihime had long fallen asleep, Grimmjow stayed awake by her on the spacious bed, brooding moodily.

She was messing with his head from the moment she'd showed up in Las Noches and every day it was becoming worse. She was an underhand creature, making him think he was in control of things, yet slowly worming her way inside and up. He hated her for confusing him, for infusing him with that unnamable weirdness of hers, for trying to _change_ him without his notice.

She took a bit of him and reshaped him after every subsequent time he came to take her and he did not appreciate it. He had realized it long ago, what she'd been trying to do. He'd intended to resist it—whatever it was that she was doing to him—but it had been a rather pointless exercise. He'd attempted to put an end to his visits to her then, unwilling to see the end result of her evil magic over him.

And that's when it became ugly.

He hadn't been able to let her go. Can you imagine?

He'd become so intoxicated and used to her that she'd become a fixation to him, a treat he could not deny himself, an insatiable desire. He was treading in dangerous territory there and he knew it but he was still as incapable at letting her go.

She was making him weak, corroding his keen senses with her saccharine sweetness and haunting softness and he _hated_ her for it. He felt those sadistic inclinations towards her from so long ago arise again in him when he looked at her blissfully sleeping face. And it pissed him off so _fucking much_ that she could rest away undisturbed when she was causing him so many headaches with complex issues he didn't even _want_ to concern himself with.

The bitch… It was all her fault to begin with—why was _he_ the one to suffer in the end?

And during all those times he glared heatedly at her slumbering form, his hand reached out, fingers twitching to enclose around her fragile neck, itching to break it and free himself of all the troubles she was putting on his shoulders.

It was all in his mind, he'd tell himself, this change that had taken place between them. They looked no different than they did before he started screwing her regularly, they _were_ no different; she was still the annoying chit whose blood he yearned to spill and there was nothing going on between them that could stop him from doing so. If anything, her fucking with his mind was even more an incentive to put an end to her miserable existence and do them both a favour.

He would be so close to wrapping his long slender digits around her throat he could practically _taste_ it; taste his freedom, taste the relative normalness again…

…And then she would sleep-talk, breathing a dreamy sigh through her pointy little nose, and effectively chase away all of the fight from him.

Because it was no longer Kurosaki's name she mumbled in her sleep.

His hand would retract at this point and he'd become overwhelmed by the urge to storm out of the room, slam the door behind himself enough to startle her awake just to spite her for throwing him in another fit of unclear, unfamiliar emotions. She was finally truly giving him what he'd wanted from the start and yet it still seemed _wrong_.

Because Grimmjow was finally everything that preoccupied Orihime's thoughts, whether she be awake or not.

He had been the one to break her, the one to sully her, the one to desecrate her. He'd taken her innocence and made her as filthy as each and every one of them in Las Noches was, stripping her of her right to look down on them.

He'd won. He'd overpowered her. He'd ruined her irreparably. And he'd been incredibly, evilly pleased with himself at that.

He muttered a curse beneath his breath, resting his forehead on his hands and not moving even an inch for long enough to be mistaken for a statue on her bedside.

He'd been the one to ruin her and yet why was it that Grimmjow felt like the one to have been irreversibly tainted…?

* * *

_Notes:_ Upon the ingenious suggestion of ColdPersianFusion, I decided to make this a multi-chapter introspective piece on Grimmjow and Orihime's relationship. So this is just what I'm going to do, in three to five chapters, or maybe even more if I get a stroke of brilliance on this story.

I hope you had an enjoyable enough read to let me know what you thought about it. :)


	3. In the Public Eye

_**Nature's Finest Artwork**_

* * *

_Chapter Three: In the Public Eye_

* * *

Las Noches was a lurid godforsaken place. It was home to even darker and godless personas. Therefore it was only self-explanatory that the whole fort was shrouded in mystery, deceit and treachery.

The fortress itself was practically weaved of secrets, just like each and every one of its occupants.

Small secrets, unimportant secrets, horrifying secrets, unbelievable secrets—they had all sorts of them inside the maze that was the Arrancar hideout in Hueco Mundo.

At the same time, while Las Noches was a quite large hold in itself, it housed a rather small and closed society inside its walls. Everyone knows that news of any sort travel fast in small tight-knit communities, especially those featuring many individuals with too much free time on their hands.

And there wasn't really much to do besides talking while not busy with pillage and plunder of innocents.

It was for this reason that no secret was kept a secret for long. _Someone_ was bound to find out things at some point and it was only understandable they'd feel compelled to share; what else was there for news to do with than pass it on?

A spicy bit of information like the Sexta Espada's recurring visitations to Aizen-sama's pet's room was virtually impossible to withhold for more than a day at most.

* * *

The first one to find out about it was, of course, Aizen himself.

It was perfectly understandable he would be; he'd been trying for so long to manoeuvre Grimmjow into action he was starting to wonder whether his people-manipulating skills weren't rusting.

It had been very easy for the Arrancar supreme commander to notice his subordinate's immediate interest in his guest from the moment she showed her pretty face in the keep. It was only to be expected that Grimmjow would be interested in her—she had healed his arm when he thought he'd never have it back and thus practically handed him back his beloved Espada rank on a silver platter. He'd be a fool not to be even slightly impressed with her after being subjected to her powers.

What his simplistic linearly-thinking mind would never be able to deduce on its own was that Aizen had purposefully made the girl use her powers on the azure haired Espada. He'd known that her fate rejecting powers would lure Grimmjow to her, whether for their incomprehensive force or for the surely unique feeling when subjected to their healing qualities. He'd been sure and he'd been pleased to see that the cerulean-eyed man among his finest had truly experienced a visible pique in interest when his arm had been restored.

What Aizen had not foreseen or accounted for was the unnatural lack of any action upon this fact from the Sexta. The imbecile had only shot her those long, level looks across the halls or meetings, thinking whoever knows what in that deranged tiny brain of his, and not doing _anything_ about her.

This wouldn't do, the former shinigami had immediately deduced. This kind of stalemate was definitely not to his taste and he wouldn't tolerate it much longer. One way or another, he would change the situation because it was throwing spanners into the works of his brilliant plot.

His plot was relatively simplistic for once, too. Having the most disobedient, most unpredictable and impossible to command of his men get attached to a frail, human girl was his best bet at gaining some advantage over that hot-blooded head of Grimmjow's. Not like he really needed any additional trump cards or dirty tricks up his sleeve to keep his subordinate in line, really—he had a perfect way to force Grimmjow into subordination by force if he just wanted to. But mind games were just so much more fun, weren't they?

However, when his little ploy had stopped in its tracks completely thanks to Grimmjow's utter inactivity, Aizen had been forced to cut his fun short. If the fool wasn't going to _do_ anything, then the ex-death god would just have to _make_ him do something.

That, in itself, was done in the most underhand, oblique manner, too, as was everything Aizen Sousuke ever did.

And it, too, had been very easily-achieved a task. It had taken absolutely no effort and barely any time at all.

Aizen had merely decided to shatter whatever was left of Inoue Orihime.

What had made it so simple was the fact the girl practically had all her weaknesses and vulnerabilities stamped on her forehead, just _begging_ to have them exploited, used against her in the cruellest of ways. He would've been an idiot not to take that opportunity and break her soul, a thing equally as frail as her body.

All it had taken was a few well-aimed truths carefully phrased to sting harder and she'd shattered to millions of tiny pieces before his very eyes.

It had been rather fascinating a sight, really. Too bad there was no way to perpetuate the beauty of her complete mental undoing—oh, how he wished he could savour it again and again; she was so naive and incapable of veiling any of her emotions it was almost touching. _Almost_.

After she'd left his quarters that day he'd languidly made his way to the observation room where Gin was seated in front of the control panel as usual, his trademark grin etched securely on his face.

On the screen there was a large tangle of limbs and white fabric, wrestling together for dominance or freedom, whichever was not quite evident for either of the onlookers. Soon, it adopted shape and the frames of Orihime and Grimmjow could be made out, the latter straddling the first who fought to take her assailant off her and pry him away from devouring her mouth with all her unimpressive might.

They made for a really ridiculous picture together.

"Woul' ya like me to go an' get Grimmjow-kun off ou' guest befo' he does anythin' serious to 'er?" Gin asked him, visibly ready to leave right away if green lighted to.

Aizen smirked coyly in that positively sinister way only he could pull off so well.

"Why would I want you to go interrupt what I've been trying so hard to make happen for so long, Gin?" His mask of sweetness couldn't fool his accomplice the least bit, especially when he spoke of such monstrosity. "But I would've never thought that it would be with my last-ditch attempt to entertain myself that I'd finally have Grimmjow do as I've wanted him to all along. Nevertheless, I can only rejoice at the impeccable timing of his advances."

They turned back to the monitor while Ichimaru digested the reasons for Aizen's little game without needing to ask for them.

An Arrancar attached to a human girl was much easier to manipulate than an Arrancar with a lust for fighting and knack for disregarding orders. A girl with formidable powers of event rejection was more fun to tease when she harbours feelings for one of her friends' biggest foes.

It was a plot that would surely make for some giggles along the way.

"Besides, Gin," Aizen began once more, drawing the addressed man's attention to present time again. "Does our little guest look to you like someone displeased with her predicament?"

Ichimaru had to agree that forced girls would definitely not be so responsive to their captors' attentions. Or participating as much as this one was in the whole ordeal.

The Arrancar creator turned on his heel in a theatrical flourish of white robes.

"Make sure everyone is busy enough not to interfere with their 'first date'—I wouldn't bear those two going all shy on me again."

Gin grinned at Aizen's retreating back while switching off the surveillance monitor.

"Understood."

The silver-haired man was gone soon after with his zanpakutou securely beneath the sash on his waist.

He had a mission on his hands which was as simple as it was important.

* * *

The next one to find out was, naturally, Orihime's caretaker.

Namely, none other than Ulquiorra Schiffer, the Cuatra Espada himself.

The first time he felt Grimmjow's suppressed spirit force in his charge's room he thought his senses must have gone awry. After all, even a lump-headed retard like that fight-loving moron couldn't be stupid enough to go against Aizen-sama's explicit prohibition of entry to that chamber.

But at that time Ulquiorra had been too busy with a task given to him by Commander Ichimaru, who was in turn acting under direct orders from Aizen-sama himself, to go deal with that vermin. When his work had been over with, the bastard's reiatsu was long gone and the girl seemed fairly normal during dinner. She'd even eaten more than she usually did which the pale-skinned man took as a definite sign of improvement on her part. So he'd let it go as his mind playing tricks on him from taking on too many missions than was absolutely necessary lately.

The next time it happened he _hoped_ he was somehow mistaken because the fact this rendezvous was reoccurring in the same pattern could only mean that the higher-ups approved of it in some way or another, which was an abominable thought in itself. Yet there was still the off-chance of his commanders not knowing about Grimmjow's escapades with the woman so he'd let it slip that time as well.

When the visits started happening on a daily basis though the emerald-eyed Espada was forced into action. For some reason, it irked him that the rascal thought he could get away with doing whatever he pleased and thinking he was exempt from Aizen-sama's strict orders.

What puzzled him more though was the fact not one of the former shinigami in Las Noches was taking any action against that menace's repeated advancements. Ulquiorra was sure there must have been some kind of misunderstanding—that his superiors did not realize the extent of Grimmjow's arrogance should they allow him to run amuck and get away with practically anything—so he decided to right that wrong and raise the question the next time he reported to Aizen.

"Grimmjow's frequent visitations to Inoue Orihime?" Aizen cocked barely discernibly an eye brow at the deeply bowing Ulquiorra before him. "Surely you don't mean to believe I am ignorant of what is going on inside my own fort, Ulquiorra-kun? Of course I know of Grimmjow-kun's intriguing new quirk for our dear guest."

The balled fist of the Cuatra Espada's respectively bent before his torso arm tightened its clenched hold of its owner's porcelain white flesh.

"I did not mean to offend your authority, Aizen-sama. I would never doubt you being aware of every little thing going on in Las Noches." The Arrancar spoke with evenness and calm innate to his nature which he sadly did not entirely feel at that moment.

Aizen was a perceptive man, of course, and felt the disruption in his minion's voice. The second brown eyebrow rose as well.

"What seems to be the problem then, Ulquiorra-kun? You seem to have something on your mind." It was disgraceful that it took so much effort on the addressed subordinate's part not to flinch or give any indication of his private feelings on the matter at hand. "Feel free to ask away whatever it is—maybe I can help you find a solution to it."

The calculating wide smile Ulquiorra was bestowed with then made him believe that his leader might really put an end to this ludicrous set up of Grimmjow's.

"I cannot comprehend why you're letting Grimmjow come and go as he pleases and do as he wishes with Inoue Orihime when you strictly banned everyone but myself, her caretaker, from entering her private quarters, Aizen-sama. He's aloof and rash and there's no telling how much those atrocious qualities of his will soar if you let him believe he is absolved from explicit orders, sir." For some odd reason, the Espada felt a lightness in his chest after voicing his concerns on the topic that had not been there before. "Those are all my personal thoughts on the matter, Aizen-sama."

The brown-haired former shinigami hummed thoughtfully, placing his head on the palm of his arm propped up on the large armrest of his cushiony sofa he was currently seated in inside his private chamber.

"I see—so that's what's been troubling you." His smirk became scathing and impossible to look at for long. "But the way you say it makes it seem like you either don't trust my judgement of the situation or believe I am handling it wrong."

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees and even someone as emotionless as Ulquiorra realized that he was threading on thin ice.

"My deepest apologies, Aizen-sama—I did not mean to sound disrespectful. I'm sorry for saying something so out of line."

The ex-death god chuckled then, returning the atmosphere of the premise to its normal state.

"No need to be so tense, Ulquiorra-kun. I know you didn't mean any harm. And I was the one to ask you to share your thoughts in the first place."

Aizen rubbed his chin slowly under the close scrutiny of his bowing subordinate.

"I can understand why you would be concerned with the current development; surely it's not very pleasant to have another person around who was not included in your initial task but please do not mind Grimmjow-kun's presence. I haven't made any move to stop him from visiting Orihime because she doesn't seem to have anything against his occasional visits and I'm certain you've noticed the improvement of her appetite and mood as of late. That alone should suffice for you, as her caretaker, to be grateful for Grimmjow's influence. Am I wrong?" The trying smile on Aizen's face was clue enough what the right answer was, even if one did not feel like giving it.

"Of course not, Aizen-sama." Ulquiorra bowed his head in respect once again. But there was this distinctive discomfort inside him from earlier once again.

"You should really not worry quite so much about Orihime, Ulquiorra—she is quite a capable young woman and so many of us have her well-fare and pleasant stay as our topmost priority. And for all we know, she might be able to tame a bit that wild, disobedient character of Grimmjow-kun's."

The pallid-faced man nodded, forcing himself to believe his superior's words.

"Yes, Aizen-sama," was the answer that slipped his lips.

And yet why did he feel like not even a particle of his being agreed with his words?

* * *

Ulquiorra had always been known as the person who most trusted Aizen's words and followed his orders without second thought. He was an intelligent soldier, never doing anything more than necessary, never going too easy on opponents who did not deserve to live.

He had always been the perfect minion.

As such, going against his master's will was completely incomprehensible to him. That was something fools like Grimmjow did and eventually suffered the ramifications of their imbecilic decisions.

But then why was he, Ulquiorra, standing perfectly still, glaring across the room—_Orihime's room_—at _Grimmjow_, who was fixing his jacket comfortably on his shoulders as though he could not feel the biting reiatsu of the other Arrancar flare slightly more than usual?

He realized perfectly well that he was now taking liberties he shouldn't be. He knew perfectly well that this whole predicament was probably part of some or another plot of Aizen-sama's and that was the reason it was still left alone. But he really did not care. He had decided to take things in his own hands since none of his commanders would do anything in a situation that _demanded_ action to be taken. The Fourth Espada did not appreciate the Sixth's presence in that very premise and he'd make damn sure he made his point across that day.

The emerald eyes narrowed slightly in their owner's bubbling ire.

"Don't make me repeat myself—I told you that I do not want to catch you in this room ever again. I shall take upon myself the punishment for your disregard of Aizen-sama's interdict about entry to this room should you be foolish enough to overstep your boundaries again." His voice was as steady and unemotional as ever but there was a cutting edge to it that was not characteristic of his usual speech.

Grimmjow snorted and looked back at his fellow Arrancar across the premise. Orihime was watching the whole exchange with anxiety etched deeply on her face, clutching the fabric of the front of her skirt tightly. Ulquiorra's gaze shifted back to the one he was targeting, all his exasperation with the individual oozing off of him in thick waves of loaded spirit pressure.

"'_Catch me in here_'? '_Punish me_'? You're taking yourself a bit too seriously, ain't ya?" An animalistic toothy grin bloomed on his face and he let an equal amount of his reiatsu surround him, as though saying he was not the least bit intimidated by Ulquiorra's show of power. "Perfect though—I'd been looking for a reason to kick your ass around a bit for so long! Now I actually have one handed over to me. Couldn't have asked for better!"

The cerulean haired man took a stance a bit more bent at the waist, closer to the crouch of a predator waiting to pounce on its victim than that of a human male.

Ulquiorra's eyes narrowed again.

"I was right after all. Being let to your own devices for so long has got to your head." A condescending look rose in his gaze, making Grimmjow bristle visibly. "Very well then. I shall teach you your place again before you become intoxicated with your imaginary liberty."

Orihime raised her arm towards them. "Please, don't fight, you two…" she pleaded weakly, her voice trailing off unheard by either party.

"You sure have learned to talk big, Ulquiorra. But I bet you ran to your precious 'Aizen-sama' before coming here." His interlocutor's deep green orbs widened a fraction. It was all the encouragement Grimmjow's theory needed. His teeth bared threateningly again. "What, he told you to fuck off and you decided to grow a spine for once and do things your own way, against orders? That's definitely a first." The idiot's dismissive snort after that comment made Ulquiorra's long frozen blood start moving again in his dead veins.

"For a stray dog you've sure begun to bark rather loud." Dark eyebrows narrowed over equally dark eyes. "Should I just go ahead and cut off those vocal cords of yours if all you ever say is pointless demented blather?"

His Arrancar counterpart laughed out very loud then. It was a grating sound that annoyed Ulquiorra on a very much primitive level.

"Actually struck a nerve there then, did I?" How the pale-skinned male longed to rip off that self-satisfied smirk off that ugly mug… "So even if Aizen says yes to my stay with the woman, you say no? One might start thinking you can actually decide things for yourself when you want!"

In his excited speech Grimmjow was almost a second too late in dodging the kick to his side. When he came to a stop he grinned maliciously at the impassive-looking Ulquiorra across the room.

"You talk too much," the Fourth told him, his hands still in his pockets and a bored expression on his face. But his spirit pressure was already scathing high, roaring around him in a frenzy he himself would never indulge in.

His opponent only laughed again and lunged for a punch to his face, which he evaded effortlessly.

"You may be able to fool Aizen with your stand-offish jabber but you can't fool me, you prissy bitch!" Grimmjow caught the swift punch to his face and swung his attacker around, slamming him into the closest wall. "I know what you want and it's already much too late to get it."

Their flaring reiatsu was suffocating Orihime. It was terrible enough having to live surrounded by those horrifying hollow auras all around her, but now she had to endure their killer intent toward each other as well? She wasn't sure how much of this pressure her body could handle. Her senses were completely awry with the primordial fear that had seized every pore in her being and her mind was racing, begging her to do something to make it _stop_, to make the pain go away because their raging spirit forces were physically and mentally scarring her.

But they were too strong—she could not even open her mouth to speak; what was left for letting her voice carry to them?

"The woman's already mine, Ulquiorra, and I'm not planning on sharing her with you. So you can go take your complaints to Aizen again—maybe if you beg him on your knees he might reconsider letting you have her next time."

Cold sweat was already coating her entire body in a thick, unpleasant sheen when the temperature in the room dropped to somewhere below zero degrees Celsius. The sudden onslaught of soul-searing killer intent from Ulquiorra in that moment reduced her to a tiny, convulsing heap.

The green cero that blasted off an entire wall and obliterated a few azure strands of hair successfully put a stop to Grimmjow's tirade.

"I see—so the only way to put an end of your insane sleep-talk is to rip you apart. I shall do so then, limb from limb, until Aizen-sama realizes that he did not need you in his army to begin with. Such an ingrate incapable of following instructions like you has no place among the elite." The Cuatro's voice was as smooth and threatening as the steely blade of a sword shining under the sun's rays.

His pissed off antagonist took a defensive stance, distancing himself from the collapsed wall.

"Sorry for not bending over for anyone like you do, dumb bitch," the taller man spat out venomously, a dangerous glint in his eyes as he did so.

The attack that followed did not even scrape him this time because Grimmjow was prepared for it. He was through poking fun at the bastard. Now he was seriously going to kick his fucking ass and show him whom he was trying to pull rank on so he'd think twice before doing it again next time.

"Please…" Orihime wheezed out, her vision blurring as the fight escalated, the tension making the air thicken some more rendering breathing almost impossible. "Stop… fighting…"

Neither man heard her pitiful pleas. They were too engaged in this fight both had anticipated for so long to spare her any heed. They had all but forgotten her presence, not to mention her discomfort at the level of their scuffle.

Both had received a steady amount of hits by that time, Grimmjow bleeding from several places all over his body and Ulquiorra sporting a steady flow of blood trickling down his chin from the corner of his lip. Swords were drawn and waved around recklessly, clashing harder and more vicious than the previous time.

The human girl wondered how she always managed to get herself into those messes. And why her voice never reached people in these cases. She guessed the reason was the same as it was for her inability to breathe evenly at that time—she lacked power.

If only she had more strength, people would listen to her. People would respect her. And if they didn't, she could easily _force_ them to. That was the law around here, around everywhere. The rules were made and enforced by the strongest and followed by the weaker ones.

How long would she continue to lack the strength to protect the people she wanted to keep safe? How long would she have to look from the side while those she did not wish to got wounded, beat and broken down?

Orihime wanted to desperately stop that fight because whatever the outcome she would not want it. She didn't want Grimmjow to die because, while he was very unrefined and rude and cruel at times, she knew he wasn't really all bad. She didn't want Ulquiorra to die either because, while he was mean and horrible to her at times, she kind of liked him too, because he'd kept her safe from harm inside Las Noches before Grimmjow had come along.

She could not bear looking at them hurting each other right before her very eyes while she was powerless to stop them from doing it.

Angry tears spilled down her cheeks while she watched Ulquiorra slash open a large wound in Grimmjow's shoulder the latter failed to parry on time. She tried to force her voice into action while her blue-haired lover slammed his elbow in his attacker's abdomen, making him double over slightly. Indignation with her own uselessness raked her entire internal world and she clawed desperately for more will-power inside herself to let her wishes _reach_ them.

"You should've known to pick your fights better, Grimmjow." Ulquiorra told his opponent, his sword-hand gripping the hilt of his katana tighter. "In the end you've always been nothing more than trash."

"What'd you say!?" the other male snapped, ready to pounce when he realized his antagonist was no longer on the spot he was looking at.

"And disposing of trash is the only thing one can do with it."

Grimmjow realized a moment too late Ulquiorra was right behind him. He'd turned around only a second too late. He'd be a hair's breadth away from dodging the other's attack to a vital spot in his body. Yet he refused to go just like that. He aimed a lethal shot at his opponent as well, certain that it would not connect but refusing to go as easily. In the best case scenario they would both die—a perfect end to a fight he'd been craving since becoming one of Aizen's lackeys.

A single moment stretched into eternity as time stood still…

And it was just before Ulquiorra's sword could sever Grimmjow's head from his shoulders and Grimmjow's slash could open a gaping hole in Ulquiorra's stomach that Orihime managed to swallow through the rock-like lump in her throat and shout out one name into the stillness of the perpetual night of Hueco Mundo.

"_Tsubaki!!_"

Upon her desperate shriek, a bright orange light shone and flew in between the two warring Arrancars' bodies, stopping both from cutting open any life-threatening gashes in one another. When the swords of the two males connected with the surface of the Koten Zanshun, Orihime's soul's surge of power at the moment of the barrier's activation tossed both of them back, successfully pulling them apart and stunning them for long enough for some of the stifling killer intent to release its hold on the girl's fragile form.

When they finally got their bearings together, they turned their attention to the gasping for breath young woman whose legs could barely keep her up. Their malignant gazes met once again, their desire to slaughter one another not dampened even the slightest from a moment ago when they'd been so close to doing just that, but before they could clash again, Ulquiorra's sword was met with a third party's instead and Grimmjow's feet were grounded to the floor with a spell.

"Sheathe your weapons and calm your spirits, Ulquiorra, Grimmjow! Is this really the time and place for this?" the calm baritone of their newly arrived arbiter shook the two out of their bloodlust reverie.

"Commander Tousen," Ulquiorra acknowledged respectfully, willing the disdain at being interrupted out of his voice.

"Tche…" Grimmjow snorted, breaking the binding spell used on his lower extremities but no longer resuming his defensive stance.

"I understand your feelings, Ulquiorra, but your actions are too unacceptable. You endangered your charge by releasing such a great amount of your spirit force in such a small space and you failed to follow Aizen-sama's specific orders. He is furious with your insubordination and demands to see you at once. And this time he will not take no as an answer."

Glaring daggers at the two men in front of him, Grimmjow slowly slid Pantera into its sheath and stormed out of the room, unwilling to be in the company of those two assholes any longer. It just _had_ to be Tousen who had to spoil his fun…

Orihime looked from the door to the roughed up Ulquiorra and back to the door again, biting her lip while wondering what to do. She muttered a hasty thank you and an apology and rushed off after Grimmjow's disappearing reiatsu down the maze halls of Las Noches.

The Fourth Espada sighed lightly through his nose and let his gaze lazily follow the length of his sword. He wondered how severe his punishment for going against Aizen-sama's desires would be. He wondered if he could be forgiven once he took responsibility for his selfish actions.

He wondered if and when the cleanly cut off tip of his sword would regenerate.

* * *

"It aggrieves me greatly that you trust so little in my assessment, Ulquiorra-kun." Aizen's overbearing voice boomed in the complete stillness of the room.

"Yes, sir—I am very sorry, sir." In comparison, Ulquiorra's lifeless, quiet tone was almost inaudible.

"Your lack of discipline is worthy of severe punishment."

"Yes, sir—anything you see fit, Aizen-sama."

"However, since your intentions were to please me or to 'open my eyes that I had been in the wrong about Grimmjow-kun's relationship with Orihime', and because there was no harm done thanks to Kaname stepping in just on time, I shall be lenient with you."

Wide twin emeralds bore in surprise into Aizen's seated form.

"Sir?" their owner questioned disbelievingly.

"Keeping you in the dark about this plan of mine when you were so frank with me was a mistake on my part, I see that now. Please forgive this lack of insight on my part, Ulquiorra-kun, and please listen carefully. I will now tell you why I did not interfere in this affair earlier and why you shouldn't either unless you want to be treated as an obstacle in the way to achieving my goal with this rather simple plot of mine."

Ulquiorra was all ears.

* * *

News of Cuatro and Sexta's squabble spread quickly within Las Noches. The reason for Cuatro's shortness of temper with his fellow Arrancar ever more so.

The only one who'd dared push his luck with coming onto Orihime after hearing the gossip talk had been Nnoitra (_'If that low-life Grimmjow is allowed to have a go with her, then we can all have our turn; that's what pets are good for anyway!_') and it was doubtful anyone else would try after him.

Because, one way or another, Grimmjow had made his point—the human woman was his and he would not let anyone else have her until he tired of her.

"You really are an idiot, Grimmjow—do you really think Aizen-sama is letting you have your fun out of the goodness of his heart or because he's concerned about the woman's lack of entertainment in the keep?" Ulquiorra asked him once after an especially steamy night.

He'd looked at the bastard over his shoulder, his hands stuffed in his hakama pockets.

"I'm not as stupid as you think, whipped bitch," the taller man sneered viciously, his pointy canines flashing into view in his subsequent snarl. "I'm perfectly aware Aizen's got some kind of twisted trap set up for me to fall into but I don't plan on getting caught in it, so you can save your preaching for someone who cares to listen."

The Fourth blinked unimpressed then and wondered just how deluded one could get. Did Grimmjow really not realize that he was already in the said trap over his head? Did he really not realize _what_ it was? Or did he actually think he could somehow worm his way out of the noose?

After their release of pent-up frustrations, Grimmjow and Ulquiorra acted as coldly civil to each other as ever. But their dominance match and the way Nnoitra got told off soon later was proof enough to everyone in Las Noches that they should think twice before messing with Grimmjow's favourite toy.

In the public eye, she was just a means for one of Aizen-sama's best to blow some steam off. She wasn't special enough or interesting enough to be talked about much so the gossip about the unforeseen relationship died down soon after it became clear whom the girl belonged to. Because, with that being public knowledge, she lost what little of her appeal she may have had.

The gossip died down but Grimmjow's desire for his little bitch did not.

He continued to visit her frequently, maintaining his version that Aizen would not ensnare him in his evil plots any more than he would let himself be ensnared.

Every now and then a fraccion or any other Arrancar would pass by Orihime's quarters when the two were being exceptionally wild and loud and would shake their head before scurrying off.

And it was really rather ironic that in a small, tightly-knit society composed solely of heartless monsters, the public eye looked at a relationship between one of their own and a being that did not belong with their kind in a much more humane way than any human society ever would be able to…

* * *

There you have it—unchecked over entirely, may have stupid mistakes in it that I made out of lack of sleep and will fix first thing tomorrow morning. But I had to get this out _today_ because it's already 5 a.m. and I worked all night on this baby, so you're definitely getting the unchecked version _now_. Lol.

Just a quick note—it was Orihime's Koten Zanshun that cut off Ulquiorra's sword tip. Thought that could've been a bit unclear from the jumbled narrative. xD Also, I thought of elaborating the Nnoitra/Grimmjow encounter into an entire scene as well but that would've made the chapter a bit too large and would've taken another full day to write so if I get the time to writing spin offs for this fic and you want to see aforementioned encounter, let me know and I shall write it for you. Other than that, hope you enjoyed this installment even though it wasn't very exciting GrimmHime-wise, I know. That's because next chapter is going to be the peak of depth and intensity for their relationship so this is something like the calm before the storm.

So tell me what you think and for all you know your support just might make me write faster and have the chapter out sooner. xD That's what reviews are best at, fueling authors, y'know. xD


	4. Ownership Issues Special

_**Nature's Finest Artwork**_

* * *

_Special: Ownership Issues_

* * *

Meetings and tactics discussions had never been Nnoitra's forte, nor something he looked forward to the least bit. That's why you could probably guess the fact that those were beginning to occur more frequently than ever before didn't make him jump for joy.

Meetings were a total waste of time and diplomacy was bullshit for those who couldn't get what they wanted through force—that's what Nnoitra firmly believed. But the higher ups wanted him to attend the Espada gatherings and while he was very opinionated an individual, he did not fancy being ridiculed into submission in front of all his Espada peers so he did as he was told without much complaint.

But it was exactly after one of said Arrancar elite gatherings that Nnoitra heard the rumor that had obviously flitted around for some time.

"Sexta-san bolts up quite quickly after meetings lately," that busty Halibel chick observed, looking at Grimmjow's disappearing back down the hall.

"Of course he does—he doesn't have much time to spare for us when he has much more interesting matters to deal with," the creepy masked Aaroniero fucktard observed snidely.

"Oh yea'? Like what?" Nnoitra interjected, looking absolutely indifferent whether his question would be answered or not.

"He's doing that girl Aizen-sama brought here," said Szayel with a demonstrative roll of his serpentine eyes.

"How the fuck do ya kno' tha'?" Nnoitra almost bristled. Wasn't there a prohibition of entry to her room issued by Aizen-sama himself? Why the hell did that fucking bastard Grimmjow get to have the pet when he, Nnoitra, should've been the one to have her first? He was of higher rank than that little shit anyway—what the hell gives?

"Yeah, I've heard them too—they disrupted my nap more than once. I'm going to ask Aizen-sama for a room that doesn't neighbour Orihime-chan's sometime soon," Stark piped up, scratching his head in disinterest.

"What's up with him?" Aaroniero queried as the bunch of Arrancars looked after the rather stiff form of Nnoitra storming away from them and out the room.

"Why are you looking at me? It's not like I understand the guy or even care…" Stark muttered back dispassionately while plucking a pinkie into his ear.

Halibel shook her head and stalked away from them. It was only in moments like these that she was really appalled by the sort of people she'd have to face off the shinigami with.

And it was only during moments like these that she and Szayel Apollo shared the same sentiment about any topic.

* * *

In the meantime, a fuming Nnoitra was zigzagging down the hallways of Las Noches, an ugly sneer pulling on his sharp facial features.

"If tha' low-life scumbag Sexta gets to have a go with Pet-sama then why shouldn' I too? Tha's what pets are good fo' anyway!"

A sly look twisted his thin lips when he thought of all the things he had in store for dearest Pet-sama.

He'd make her scream her pretty little fucking heart out and then some more.

* * *

An hour or so later, a very worried Tesla was taking quick strides and sometimes running slightly in order to keep up with his master's step.

The fanatically loyal fraccion had a very ominous feeling about the things that would transpire once Nnoitra reached his destination.

"I don't mean to question you, sir, but is it really a good idea to breach Aizen-sama's orders, even if Grimmjow-sama already has?" the concerned minion asked while marching down the corridors with his Espada leader.

Nnoitra snorted dismissively.

"I already fuckin' told you, Tesla—all I'm fuckin' askin' of ya is to make sure that Pet-sama and I don' git interrupt'd durin' ou' bondin' time. Is tha' too fuckin' much for ya to handle? Jus' tell me 'f it is 'n I'll fin' a person who'll do betta as my fuckin' fraccion." He was being more irritable than usual. This didn't bide well for the poor human girl they were going to visit now…

Tesla tensed up at once.

"I'm sorry for angering you, Nnoitra-sama." He bowed his head, his fists clenching. He would never let his master believe there was any other Arrancar in existence who could be more loyal to Nnoitra than himself. "Of course I'll make sure you won't be interfered with."

A sly grin spread over the addressed Espada's pointy featured face.

"Now tha's wha' I was fuckin' talkin' 'bout. You've learned ter bark quite loudly lately, Tesla—make fuckin' sure yer git rid o' tha' habit or I'll be forced to git rid of it fer ya." The severe glare the misfortunate fraccion was then bestowed with made him want to shrink in size in hopes of escaping his master's scrutiny.

They had stopped in front of Inoue Orihime's room and Tesla's stomach was tied into a very firm knot which refused to loosen whatever he told himself. _This is wrong_, his inner voice screamed, wailed for him to hear but he turned his back to it, calling forth all of his will-power to ignore the horrible premonition he had about the disaster this adventure would result in. All he had to do was follow Nnoitra-sama's wishes and do as he was told. It was his sole duty as a fraccion and he would fulfill it.

The spindly tall Arrancar turned on his heel, a lecherous look already on his features as he told his subordinate,

"Ya stay 'ere and make sure no one comes in here befo' I'm through wit' Pet-sama."

The blonde nodded succinctly, with more vigour than he really felt and waited for his master to enter the human girl's private quarters and close the door before turning on his heel and assuming his guard-duty position.

For a brief second, before the door had closed and blocked his view entirely, he'd seen the look of horror that had etched itself into Orihime's innocent face upon Nnoitra's entering of her room. The knot in his stomach had only tightened further at that.

He just hoped that the girl's screams would stop haunting him eventually…

* * *

Ichimaru Gin was looking at the observation screen without his characteristic grin when Aizen entered the control room with a mug of steaming tea in his hand's secure hold.

"Ou' guest is startin' to get really popular, Aizen-sama. She has a different visitor this time," Ichimaru said languidly while both he and Aizen looked at Orihime whose top was being ripped off her in the most unsightly of ways by a very excited Nnoitra. Aizen hummed thoughtfully at the picture, taking a small sip of his tea. "And anyone can tell that she definitely doesn' want 'im there. Shouldn' we really put a stop to it this time 'round?"

The silver-haired former shinigami didn't even have to see the whole of his fellow ex-death god's face to be able to tell he was smirking widely behind his cup of warm beverage. The ways that man's twisted mind worked would forever be a mystery to his life-long follower.

"You are certainly correct in your assumption that Orihime isn't very willing with Nnoitra-kun, Gin." He took another sip of his mug, the sinister glint in his eye a bit more evident now over his drink. "But I don't think our help would be required. Orihime's savior is already on his way to her rescue."

A knowing look passed between the two former captains.

Their dirty little plot was playing out rather well even when left to its own devices. They couldn't possibly ask for better entertainment than things going their way without any effort on their part needed.

Some people were just so painfully predictable it was laughable.

* * *

Meanwhile, across the fort, a girl was writhing and hitting and kicking in resistance, tears of fear and indignation marring her face. She couldn't even begin to think what she'd done to deserve this kind of punishment. And whatever she did, this spoon-like creepy bastard wouldn't leave her alone. No matter how loud she screamed, how she tried to run away from him, he always caught her and slammed her back against the bed, tearing clothes off her with renewed vigor.

Orihime's soul was wailing in anguish, begging her to just run and hide somewhere from this lecher's horrid gaze. She didn't want to do _that_ with someone like him.

From the way he touched her she could tell that if she let this happen, it would be a horrible experience that would haunt her forever. How would she live with herself knowing she'd been taken by such an atrocious bastard? He would defile her, ruin her and make her as undesirable as she could get. She would never be able to look at herself in the mirror, not to mention being with another man after that.

From the way he looked at her she could tell that she didn't want to let him see all of her. She didn't want him there, didn't want him around her, didn't want him doing things to her that she didn't want—_why_ wouldn't he leave her be?

She was so scared her mind was only drawing blanks. This guy was an Espada, several thousand times stronger than her—what could she possibly do to make him stop what he was doing if he didn't want to? She didn't have the power to make him, didn't have the authority to put a halt to his actions.

All she _could_ do was cry and scream and hope _someone_ would hear and come to save her.

She didn't want to be raped by the likes of that serpentine asshole.

"Stop givin' me a hard time, Pet-sama, 'n jus' stay still!" he ordered, an atrociously sly look on his face as he did so. "Dam', tha' fuck Grimmjow has cert'nly picked quite a handful wit' ya."

This comment of his brought her to her other problem at hand. Before, she would've yelled out several names, hoping against hope that thanks to her screams they would somehow miraculously appear and come to her aid, the people whose names she was calling. But being with Grimmjow for the several weeks or months or years that she'd spent in Las Noches had made a realist out of her—she no longer believed that if she called for Kurosaki-kun in despair he would somehow appear before her. No, she wasn't gullible enough to do that anymore.

And, really, it wasn't Kurosaki-kun's name that was the one to jump on the forefront of her mind when she was in trouble anymore.

The name she _did_ want to yell was a name she wasn't allowed to use in such a way. If she screamed for him, he would find out later that she'd called for him and he'd be angry with her, for thinking she could rely on him, that he was somehow still indebted to her or something. If she screamed for him, he would never come to her side ever again.

She didn't want that. She was scared and terrified inside and her entire being _longed_ to scream out his name to make him come to her help in this horrible hour but she somehow suppressed all of her instincts, went against her wishes and kept quiet what every fiber of her being wanted to make known to the world. She would not breathe a syllable of his name even if it killed her—she'd rather be broken than semi-whole but without him in the ghastly place that was Las Noches.

Orihime was pulled out of her thoughts by the open mouth that was placed on the crook of her neck, sucking and licking on her tender flesh in the most repulsing of ways. Her efforts doubled, she screamed even louder, trying her best to kick him in places it would hurt even if you didn't have enough power but he pinned both her feet to her bed with his knees, deliberately hurting her for her disobedience.

"Don' make me angry, Pet. Ya won' like me when A'm angry." He growled against her skin and she shuddered in disgust as he continued his trek towards her chest, ripping the straps of her bra to undo her garment.

Orihime bit her lip as she felt a hand snake down her stomach and going for places it did not belong. She stifled her sobs as best as she could but soon it would be too late. Grimmjow would never want her after she'd let another have her. He wouldn't want to even look at her and she wouldn't want to look at herself in turn either. Even if she screamed no one would come to her aid.

The bottom part of her skirt was in shreds now as well and that rascal had lifted his head to admire his handiwork before diving in to disgust her with herself and her powerlessness some more. She arched her back and tossed but her wrists were pinned above her head as well and he was bodily pressing her back into the sheets as well—it was the end of the line for her and her resistance. There was nothing more she could do but cry some more and beg whatever higher force there was that this was just a bad dream she would wake up from before it was too late.

"Now tha's wha' I was talkin' 'bout. Just play nice 'n I will too, Pet-sama." He chuckled in that positively repugnant way and her entire being clenched with anxiety at whatever was going to follow next.

But whatever deity there was above must have heard her desperate prayers for salvation because in that moment a commotion somewhere in front of her room's door drew the bastard's attention from her.

"—can't enter now, Nnoitra-sama's explicit orders were to stop anyone from interrupting—" a muffled voice said before it was cut off, probably the person it belonged to being knocked to the side as the one going for the door opened it and stood in the door frame.

And there he was, the one she'd been calling for in her soul, standing tall and proud in all his glory, Grimmjow Jaegerjacques glared at the scene before him with his usual look of complete indifference. His eyes widened a fraction then as he took in the sight that greeted him.

Nnoitra glared back over his shoulder at his fellow Espada, a stifling killer intent starting to ooze from him in an instant. Orihime choked on all the tears and weakness in her throat under the pressure of the chilling spirit force.

"Wha' do ya fuckin' want, Sexta? Can't ya fuckin' see A'm busy 'ere? I'll send Tesla to get ya once we're done 'ere wit' Pet-sama." His slimy voice was laced with as much of that murderous aura as his reiatsu was.

Despite the horrid situation she was in, Orihime had felt wave upon wave of relief when she'd seen her prince in shining armor standing at the door frame. For some reason she'd believed that all her troubles were taken care of just for the fact that _he_ was now _there_. If he had arrived, then all was going to be right with the world. She'd firmly believed that.

She'd firmly believed it up to the point where, without making even a sound or grunting in that non-committal way he usually did when something didn't concern him at all, Grimmjow turned his back on the two on the bed and closed the door behind him.

When the mechanism clicked closed without even being slammed into place, Orihime's heart sank straight to her knees and all her power fled her body entirely. But, of course—what had made her think she was important enough to him to keep from shame? She was just a means to break rules and have some fun every now and then—she held no value to him, no meaning. She was just a toy he could do as he pleased with. What did it matter who else was having her? It's not like she was special or unique in any way to him…

And, for some reason, as those thoughts flooded her mind, drowning her in sorrow, the tears that flowed out her steel-gray eyes onto her puffy cheeks were more than those of fear she'd spilled earlier.

"Now, where we befo' we got interrupt'd?" the serpentine son of a bitch said, flashing her the gothic tattoo of the number five on his tongue.

Ah… So he was a rank higher than Grimmjow even. Even more reason for the azure haired man not to want to get in trouble with him over something as unimportant as her.

Oddly enough, after her lover had turned his back on her she did not feel as repulsed by the open-mouthed kisses the bastard was leaving on her neck and collarbone. Actually, she just didn't feel a thing. It was as though all life had fled her completely.

Then the door flew clear off its hinges, slamming hard into Nnoitra's back, sending him flying over the edge of the bed at being caught completely off-guard. Orihime seized the chance to crawl up towards the head of the bed, clutching the covers to her half-naked frame to cling to what little decency she had left.

The sudden surge of power that filled the premise was familiar to her and it was the reason she'd found the strength to move at all. At the door frame stood again a very displeased Grimmjow with his hands in his hakama pockets and a nasty look in his eye. Tesla was peeking through the gaping open hole where the door had been before, a horrified expression adorning his features.

It didn't take a genius to know this wouldn't end well.

And despite the overflowing killing reiatsu that filled the room, Orihime couldn't help feeling the unbridled happiness at not being useless enough to her lover to just leave behind for anyone to do as they wished with her.

The Sixth Espada took a few large strides inside the room glaring death at the other man getting up from the floor, pushing the door away from him while wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"You've got some guts telling me what to do while you're trying to screw _my_ woman, you twisted fuck," Grimmjow growled, shoulders tensing and brows narrowing in warning.

"She's Aizen's toy, fucktard, she belongs on'y to 'im. 'E's just lettin' ya have a li'l fun wit' 'er ter keep ya from bein' too annoyin'. So if yer allowed to have a go wit' 'er, all of us betta' than ya should be too." He stuck his tongue out again, emphasizing on the fact he was higher in the hierarchy than his current antagonist.

Grimmjow snorted disinterestedly.

"Fine then, you can have her." Orihime's heart clenched painfully again. "As soon as you prove you're any better than me, you can do whatever you want with her." The sapphire-eyed Arrancar had already taken a defensive stance with his hand on his sword's hilt.

Nnoitra snorted, a sneer sliding into place on his face.

"Ya want ter have some sense pounded inter ya? I dun min'—it will on'y take a fuckin' second anyway."

Spirit forces were released and death glares were sent across the room while the girl for whom the whole commotion was about clutched tightly to her bed sheets, the familiar feel of cold sweat coating her skin overcoming her. The last time this had happened she'd been lucky enough to muster up the resolve to put a stop to things before it had become ugly. But there was no guarantee Grimmjow wouldn't get seriously hurt this time around…

She whimpered pitifully barely audibly against her bed sheet, closing her eyes tightly. When she'd wished to be saved she hadn't meant for Grimmjow to get in trouble instead of her—if it was pain, she'd rather receive it herself than watch someone dear suffer. She had to do something, had to find that power that had driven her into action before, had to _do_ something—

"What is going on here?" a cold devoid of any emotion voice boomed in the silence of the premise, drawing the attention of all its inhabitants to the newcomer at the door frame.

"Ulquiorra-sama…" Tesla muttered by the newly arrived Espada's feet, a respectful veneration in his eyes as he looked up at the frame of Cuatro's towering frame above him.

Grimmjow snorted and let go of his sword at once, redirecting his glare at the Fourth while Nnoitra grinded his teeth angrily at the emerald-eyed man.

"Wha' d'ya know, wha' d'ya know—mis'r Cuatro decided ter drop in 'n say 'hi' ter us mere mort'ls beneath 'im." Venom dripped from every word of the Fifth's sentence and Orihime recognized it at once—jealousy and envy so strong in the dark haired man's voice so thick they were painful to listen to.

Ulquiorra did not seem the least bit fazed by them though.

"Aizen-sama has strictly prohibited entry to this room to all Arrancars—you should know that, Nnoitra."

"'N, what, on'y that fuckin' bastard not included in these orders, huh?" the Fifth tossed his head in direction of the blue haired male present. No one answered his question but the look in their eyes was clue enough. "Fuckin' shit…" Nnoitra muttered to himself, already tasting defeat.

"If you choose to proceed any further from here, I shall take upon your removal from this premise myself. Aizen-sama's word is law and you shall obey it."

There was a deafening silence, during which Orihime could practically hear her own heartbeat hammering against her ears. After the longest of waits, Nnoitra snorted and walked around the bed, shoving past Grimmjow who did not budge, the two exchanging murderous glances as they passed by one another.

"If Aizen-sama says no then I guess there's no fuckin' way 'round it, is there?" He stopped when he was shoulder to shoulder with Ulquiorra, glaring at the shorter Arrancar with a hellfire burning in his gaze. "I _will_ have Pet-sama one of these fuckin' days—jus' remember tha'," he muttered to the male of smaller stature so that no one else would hear before his voice returned to its usual timbre. "Get fuckin' up, Tesla—yer a total disgrace. We're leavin' 'ere fer today."

And leave they did, with Espada's fraccion scurrying behind him clumsily to his feet.

Ulquiorra lingered in the room a moment longer after Nnoitra's back was no longer visible from the hole that used to be a door before.

"The next time you provoke him, I'll let Cinco beat some respect for authority into you, Grimmjow," the white-faced Arrancar warned dispassionately, that uncharacteristic glint in his eyes present again while he glared at his counterpart.

"Yeah, let others try to do what you didn't manage, ass-kissing bitch. I'll take anything you throw at me and shove it right back in your ugly mug."

With a last withering look exchanged, Ulquiorra turned on his heel and left the two to their own devices, off to tell Aizen-sama of the catastrophe that he'd just narrowly prevented and to warn him of any subsequent attempt on Cinco's part to harm the human girl.

Once alone with Grimmjow in the room, Orihime's whole body visibly relaxed. She hadn't even realized how tense she'd been before the fight had left her completely. Her relief was short-lived though because the glare Grimmjow accounted her with made her stiffen in fright again. None of what had happened had been directly her fault—why was he looking at her as though it was? Why was he so angry?

He advanced threateningly towards her, looming above her as his detached azure orbs looked over her body and the damage dealt by that bastard Nnoitra.

Her garments were torn and she looked a mess from all the crying she'd done. But that wasn't even half as bad as the red marks and traces that asshole had left on her tender flesh while he'd ravished her. Her resisting had resulted in the scumbag probably being rougher with her than he'd initially intended and it was painfully visible when looking at her.

His brows narrowed over his eyes some more. That no-good son of a bitch… He'd make sure he thought again before trying to lay a hand on _his_ woman.

But in the meantime…

Grimmjow grabbed Orihime's wrist rather roughly, dragging her to her feet and almost knocking her over as she did so because her balance was very bad at that moment, taking her Lord knew where.

"Grimmjow-kun… Grimmjow-kun, you're hurting me…" she mumbled helplessly, trying in vain to free her hand from his hold. All her resistance melted at the vicious glare he sent her though. He didn't even need to order her to shut up when he looked at her with such eyes.

Before she knew it, she was shoved inside the shower stall in the bathroom adjourning her room, that withering expression still secure on Grimmjow's features. She looked back at him in puzzlement after gathering her surroundings.

"I want you to wash every place that bastard's slimy hands have touched you; I don't want even the ghost of a trace of him left on you when you're finished—do you understand me?"

His voice was loud and rough and demeaning but the things he was saying made her feel warm inside. It was at that moment that she realized that it was not _her _he had been glaring at earlier but what had happened to her in his absence.

So he _did_ care whether anyone else was with her, and what happened to her. He cared quite a lot so he didn't want to be reminded of it while he was with her, didn't want anyone else to use her while she was with him.

He'd said to Nnoitra that she was his. She'd never fancied the thought of being regarded as a possession but she had a feeling just this once she could make an exception.

She didn't mind being his if that meant he'd stay by her side.

He had already turned the water on and adjusted it when she grabbed onto his jacket, pulling him into the stall flush up against her soaked self.

The azure-haired Espada look at her with unveiled nonplus as she slid the drenched upper garment off his shoulders with grace which combined very oddly with the shredded clothes, which barely hid anything from view.

"I'm going to need someone to tell me whether I've done a good job of cleaning myself from any foreign presence. Would you care to make sure yourself?" She managed a weak smile as she asked that, wrapping her arms around his neck to make sure her legs didn't give out from beneath her after such an emotionally draining day.

Grimmjow smirked in that positively enticing way as he steadied her by putting his arms around her waist, turning them around so she'd be hit directly with the water stream from the shower.

It was all the promise she needed to know he wouldn't let a memory of that rascal's touch linger on her body or in her mind.

It was really odd when you considered it all earnestness—she had come very close to being taken against her will by a total creep and she'd almost been led to believe that the person whom she relied on most both physically and emotionally in the Arrancar keep didn't care even the slightest about her in return, and yet at the end of the day she was sure she must be the happiest and luckiest of girls alive.

Because, while he wasn't a prince riding a tall horse and fighting for the justice in the world, she was his and only his and while she was, she was sure he would never let her come to any harm.

* * *

A/R: I don't know if I did Nnoitra justice with this chapter but I should note now that I hate rape stories… but I quite enjoyed writing this chapter because I knew the outcome beforehand and thanks to that encounter Grimm and Hime are closer now. I hope you liked too. :3 And I hope I didn't make Orihime a bit too OOC by the end. Oo Sure, she must be shaken from what was going to happen to her, but nothing really _happened _so there's no reason she wouldn't want to cling to Grimmjow while she's at it… right? xD


End file.
